Little Pitchers
by Nikki1
Summary: AU story...Years after his first explosive loss of control over his abilities, an exhausted and angry Peter looses control once more during a fight with Petrelli Sr., resulting in Peter learning something extremely distrubing about his venerable father


Here we go again! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and PM'd me asking for more stories in this universe, it's so thrilling to know that you're enjoying what I have to offer. Watching Peter and Arthur interact in Villains made it pretty clear to me that, well, Arthurs a jerk. This pretty much rolls from that thought. Once again, this is the latest in a series of AU Heroes fanfics, please refer to my previous AU stories for clarification. Thanks for reading.

_**Little Pitchers**_

Peter had always been a truly unique individual. Among the AP community his rare ability made him truly one of a kind; he had neither heard of nor met anyone else who could claim more than one special gift. As a Petrelli his penchant for do-goodedness and absence of both avaricious and megalomaniacal leanings meant that he spent many family dinners pondering the likelihood that he was, in fact, adopted. Peter never knew whether to be relieved or disappointed when Nathan laughingly dismissed his theories surrounding his parentage.

Yet, for all his charming eccentricities, Peter was not immune to that vile and devastatingly malicious disease affecting most people as they leave childhood and stand upon the cusp of that long daunting stretch of life still before them; namely, teenage angst.

Since the dawn of time, it seems, this insidious demon has leeched upon otherwise respectful, kind even loving children, forcing them into hermit-like states broken only by the occasional emotional tirade to further frighten their nervous parents. It is the chief cause of door slamming, eye rolling, slouching and sigh heaving among people under 20. Like most other young people in his school, city, state and country, Peter knew that no one understood him. Like all of his classmates, Peter knew that no one had ever felt the way that he felt or knew what he knew, his parents least of all. Nathan was his only confidante and even he was channeling their father with alarming and increasing frequency.

Mom treated him like an infant, refusing to recognize the maturity he had lately achieved. She monitored his every movement and the stifling heat of her constant supervision was growing unbearable. Dad, well, he surely was of another species altogether. Father and son rarely interacted and if they did manage a heart to heart it was usually in the form of a lecture regarding the importance of grades and education. When Peter tried to explain that he simply didn't care about ancient Mesopotamia or the correct method of diagramming a sentence his father would become only further incensed. Of course, Arthur couldn't be expected to actually attempt an interest in the Peter's favored occupations. In seventh grade the boy had mentioned that he was considering joining the school band, a hope that was promptly squashed.

"You need an extra-curricular that's going to expand your leadership skills," was his father's gruff response. "What's wrong with student government?" Baseball was the only facet of Peter's life upon which the pair agreed. Peter enjoyed the sport because he could run around a great deal and because Nathan had played at his age. Arthur knew that sports were appropriate material for resumes and college applications and, besides that, Nathan had played. If Peter hadn't idolized his brother to such an enormous extent he probably would have taken issue with the overt favoritism a bit more than he did.

Even considering the uncomfortably rigid state of their relationship, Peter couldn't help feeling a sense of disappointment every morning he woke to a nearly empty breakfast table to discover that his father was once again abroad travelling for business, whatever that meant.

Peter had once ventured into his father's office when the man had returned after spending three weeks somewhere in Asia and, standing in the doorway, he had asked his father exactly what he did when he travelled for business. Arthur barely glanced over the file he was reading. "It's not your concern. Did you finish your homework?"

"No."

"Then why are you standing around? Go."

Peter never asked again. By 13 he had learned to accept the fact that he and his father would never enjoy the type of relationship that Arthur offered to his eldest, not as long as Peter was unwilling to sacrifice his unique identity and Arthur refused to accept that Peter was not Nathan.

These facts considered, Peter was understandably surprised when, as he arrived home from a grueling session of abilities training with Claude Raines, he heard his father's distinctive low timbre calling him into the front room.

His mother sat rigidly in a high backed French armchair offering her son a nervous smile as he entered the room. The gentle frown creasing his mother's brow along with the telltale almost imperceptible twitching of her right index finger as she folded her hand neatly in her lap told Peter that the following conversation would not be a happy chat. His father's guarded body language, arms crossed across his chest while he leaned against the mantle piece, did nothing towards assuaging his concern. Arthur nodded his head, indicating that Peter should sit in a chair beside Angela.

Crossing the room Peter was severely tempted to use his newly acquired gift of telepathy in order to garner some degree of insight. He resisted the urge, partly because it would be a gross misuse of his ability and also because ever since being introduced to Matt Parkman at the local CAP office he had been experiencing difficulty controlling the unusual gift. His mentor, coach and drill sergeant Claude had been livid to learn that Peter had been unable to resist absorbing Parkman's unstable ability. Never mind the plethora of abilities that Peter hadn't assimilated that day, Claude was quick to point out that the jaunt had been a training, "not a flipping field trip to the city zoo", and the object had been not to take on any new abilities at all, thus demonstrating the iron hard control he had developed over his core ability. Ever since then the strict trainer had been taxing Peter's every iota of endurance in trying to tame the difficult gift. The session Peter had just left had been particularly strenuous, requiring a strength of will power, concentration and physical might that left the young boy drained and weak. Claude had demanded that his exhausted tutee go home and fall directly into bed.

"Don't even think of using any of your abilities, friend," he had threatened as Peter climbed out of his car. "Not unless you want to risk killing your precious family and neighbors in a horrible nuclear explosion. Again."

Peter knew Claude spoke out of loving concern. He truly wanted nothing more than to follow his advice and drop into the comforting warmth of his very own bed, but unfortunately his father had other plans and Arthur Petrelli's plans abode no refusal. So the exhausted young teen found himself fighting desperately to at least feign interest in his father's oration.

Arthur stood before his, apparently, rapt audience of two, relishing in the authoritative position towering high above the seated forms. "Peter, you're familiar with how highly I hold the importance of success in a man's life. For generations our family…"

'_Ah geeze, here we go again. The awesome might of the Petrelli name.'_ Peter fought the urge to thrust his index finger as far down his throat as he could in a gratuitously childish display of revulsion for his father's favorite topic.

His father continued. Peter scratched his nose, wondering how long it would continue.

"…hard work, dedication and sacrifice…"

Peter's head ducked slightly as the heaviness produced from hard work stole through his limbs. One sharp side ways glance from his mother snapped him out of the temptation to doze.

"All of that said, you'll certainly understand why this move is necessary to me and this family."

All mind fogging haze evaporated instantly. _'What did he just say?'_

"Move?"

"Yes," his father replied matter-of-factly. "To Europe. Obviously you haven't listened to a word that I've said or you would know that. But why should I be surprised?"

"Europe?" he squeaked, too bewildered to even consider being embarrassed by the pubescent inconsistency in his tone. "I can't move to Europe."

"You can," Arthur advanced toward his son's chair, hands grasped behind his back, "and you will."

Peter jumped out of his seat, ready to bolt from the room and leave the conversation behind with his parents. "No, I won't!" he shouted. "You can't just decide we're all gonna move a million miles away. It isn't fair!"

Arthur's hand leapt out to capture Peter's upper arm as he attempted to stomp past his father. He whipped the boy around to meet his father's face. "The beauty of this situation is that I can make these decisions for you. I'm your father. You do what I say."

Peter tore his glare away from his father, softening its vehement intensity before thrusting a pleading looking upon his still seated mother. Angela's expression was unfeeling but Peter, sensitive Peter, could perceive the deeper layers of anguish hidden within the cold shell. "Mom," his voice cracked, "you said I could start at the academy next year. You promised. We can't leave. Please."

Arthur grasped his young son at the nape of his neck, applying pressure to force the boy's attention upon himself once more. "This isn't a question," he stated calmly and firmly. "We are moving. You are moving. Soon."

"I won't," Peter maintained just as firmly as his father. ""What about Nathan? Claire? My friends?"

"Peter…" Arthur warned, the muscles in his neck tightening along with his grip on his son, a hallmark of impatience.

"Arthur," Angela finally interrupted. She strode across the room to lay a cool hand on her husband's back. "I thought we had agreed to at least talk about postponing the move."

"No, my dear," he dropped his hand to face his wife, "you wanted to talk about it. I never agreed to."

"I'm not going," Peter interposed passionately, refusing to be quelled by his father's admonishing glare, a look that would have frozen Nathan mid-syllable.

"I think," Angela continued, "that for Peter's sake it is well worth discussing."

"You can't keep me there, I'll just run away," Peter threatened, "or fly away. Whatever it takes."

Arthur smirked. "We've arranged to take away your abilities before, one call to Dr. Suresh and we can do it again. "

The room grew silent as the other two dealt with the chilling fact that Arthur had all but threatened to have his son tranquilized for the second time in his short life. Angela well remembered the haunting days of Peter's convalescence. She recalled playing nurse maid to the dull, listless creature who had replaced her buoyant son for far too long. How dare he suggest that they voluntarily subject their family to a replay of that event? A strangled "Arthur…" was all she managed to whisper, consumed as she was by all absorbing disgust.

Peter couldn't remember that period in his life. The drugs were responsible for that, he supposed. It was the prospect of being without his abilities that had stolen the breath from his lungs. He could only too clearly imagine himself, vulnerable, vegetative and without escape, being led about Europe on a golden tether. He didn't like that prospect. It disturbed him that this man, who he loved and from whom he desired nothing but acceptance and approval while having absolutely no similarity of opinion, likes, hobbies or values, could so dictate every aspect of his life. Peter was angry, and in his state of advanced fatigue the influx of emotion was not well received by his abused body. The warring factions of abilities vs. emotion were clashing. Claude would be displeased to hear of it…but Peter lost control.

Angela noticed even before Peter that he was flickering between invisibility and opaqueness. "Peter!" she panicked, fearing a repeat of the fire that had nearly engulfed her beautiful home. Arthur stepped away from his volatile son. "Just stay calm, sweetheart."

Peter struggled to force solidity back into his unevenly transparent form. Controlling his many and varied abilities was a difficult enough task even when he was well rested and nonplussed. As the situation stood, as soon as he managed to subdue one ability another would crop up in its place. "No!" he shouted at himself, his parents completely forgotten for the moment, when he felt the dangerous heat beginning to dance in his core, flames desperate to burst outward and lap eagerly with their vibrant tongues. He grunted in exertion, focusing his power with an intensity that produced beads of perspiration along his upper lip. As the heat reluctantly ebbed back into dormancy, Peter relaxed his concentration, sighing in relief that he had managed not to generate a nuclear reaction.

The moment the drained boy relaxed his guard and offered his wary parents a tired grin his mind swelled with voices swarming together in a violent assault. He clutched at the sides of his head, so overwhelmed by the volume of the spectral voices that he couldn't even be bothered to curse his own stupidity at forgetting his most recently acquired gift.

Cook was mentally reviewing the week's menu.

Mrs. Grey, the maid, was humming to herself as she walked down the upstairs corridor.

'_Peter. God, help Peter stay calm_,' Angela's voice whispered though her lips never moved.

'_Damn kids more trouble than he's worth,'_ his father's voice echoed maliciously as he nursed the alcoholic beverage that had been sitting on the table. _'If Angela had gotten rid of him when she had the chance like I told her to, we wouldn't be in this mess.'_

Peter suddenly understood why people described betrayal as being "stabbed in the back". It was impossible that even Cesar himself could appreciate the searing pain caused by his father's caustic words. Peter was terrified of looking down, he was sure that if he did he would see the gaping hole in his chest left when his heart had been unceremoniously ripped from it's place securely ensconced by his sturdy rib cage. He could almost hear the blood dripping musically into a puddle on the hardwood floor. The voices vanished, replaced by an incessant buzzing that had nothing to do with abilities and everything to do with the horror of realizing that his father had never wanted him.

He stared up at this, the most important man in his life, his large eyes protrudent with awful wonder. He wanted to shout, to beg for his father to denounce those words as false, but no sound would come. His lips worked at forming some response but they could only contort oddly and tremble with the force of the repressed sobs lurking just beneath his façade of composure.

His father finally met the boy's glassy eyes, brimming as they were with tears, and, ignorant of his son's mental eaves dropping, grumpily asked "What?"

The Petrelli parents were astonished when Peter emphatically shook his head and ran from the room. By the time they had followed him to the front door, he was gone.

* * *

Peter had always been very fond of finding secluded hideaways, even as a child, to the chagrin of his parents, brother and varied care givers. Inside closets, under desks and beds, in the bath tub with the curtain drawn, under sinks, inside an emptied out toy box…he could always find a place to hide. His parents worried that this habit bespoke deep seated psychological issues. He just thought it was fun. Learning to fly had opened up a new world of options for the boy. Tall trees and the roof of his house were always acceptable, but his very favorite hiding place was one he shared with Nathan…it was a place no one else could reach with the ease of the Petrelli brothers; the top of the Statue of Liberty. It was a secret, of course, as his mother would likely suffer from apoplectic shock if she were to discover that her sons often met atop Lady Liberty at night when all the tourists and school children were home in bed.

Knowing his mother as well as he did, Peter wasn't too surprised when his solitary grieving was disrupted by the soft thwump of his brother landing beside him.

Nathan groaned, taking in the slump of his brother's shoulders and how heavily his head lay in his hands. "Hey," he greeted, placing an arm around the younger Petrelli.

Peter instantly turned into his brother, burying his head into the crook of Nathan's neck. "Geeze, man," Nathan jokingly complained as he was rocked by the violent force of his brother's embrace. "What are you tryin' to do, knock me off?" He soon realized that the smaller body pressed against him wasn't swaying with the wind as he had assumed but was indeed convulsing with sobs. "Hey," he said softly. "Whoa, there, kiddo. What happened?" He heard an indistinct mutter muffled Peter's mouthful of shirt. "Calm down a bit," he soothed, forcing back Peter's head in a move eerily reminiscent of his father. Once he had his brother's attention his hand slid down to rub consoling circles on his back. "What happened?"

Peter chocked back a sob, strengthened by his brother's mere presence. "H-he hates me," he hiccupped, scrubbing at his weeping eyes.

"Who?"

Peter looked down at his hands in his lap before daring to answer. "Dad," he replied quietly, though he continued to inhale ragged gasps of air. "He really does."

"Pete…" Nathan scoffed, offering his clueless little brother a condescending grin. "Don't be such a child. Is this about the move?"

Peter was unsurprised by both his brother's patronizing manner and the fact that he obviously knew about Arthur's plan. "No, not about the stupid move," Peter exhaled. "We were fighting…"

"Yeah, mom mentioned that," Nathan grinned wryly, forcing a hand through his own hair. He had just arrived home to his wife and child after an obscenely long day when he had received the desperate call from his mother. "I guess that's happening a lot more, huh?"

Peter kicked at the famous statue with the well worn heel of his Converse high tops. "I dunno, I guess so. But this time…it was so bad. I-I heard something that…it was so bad."

"You're being way too cryptic here, kid."

"I got upset and lost control of my abilities. Nothing like that happened," he said, appeasing the concern he clearly saw in his brother's expression. "No eruptions or anything like that. But…I couldn't control the telepathy. It just…happened. I heard thoughts…cook, Mrs. Gray…mom and dad…"

"What? Peter, that's so wrong. You know better than to get into people's minds," the older brother lectured. "When you absorbed that damn ability you promised not to do anything stupid like that."

"I didn't mean to!" Peter defended himself, "Do you think I wanted to hear those things? You really think I wanted to know that dad didn't want me? That he wanted mom to get rid of me? Yeah, that's my idea of great family bonding time."

Nathan grasped his brother's chin, forcing the boy to look into his eyes. "What…do…you …mean?"

A tear rolled down the teen's still childishly plump cheek. "He said I'm just trouble. That he asked mom to get rid of me. I'm not stupid. I know what that means."

Nathan inhaled deeply. He pulled his brother into his arms once more, resting his cheek on the tousled head. He was rocked by the memory of kneeling in front of his parent's room over thirteen years ago…

"…_You're acting as if I planned this pregnancy and even though I did not, it doesn't have to be the end of all our goals. I'm more experienced as a mother now; I know I can handle more responsibility among the APs and raise this child at the same time. Besides I guarantee you that I am pregnant. This baby is coming in less than five months so why do you insist on talking as if there's something you could do to change that?"_

"_There is something," he said so quietly that Nathan had to put his ear to the crack at the floor in order to hear. "Get rid of it."_

_Absolute silence followed._

"_Are you suggesting…"_

"_You know what I'm suggesting," he interrupted harshly._

"_No, I want to clarify," said Angela angrily. "You're talking about abortion."_

_In the moments that Arthur was silent Nathan felt a chill run down his spine. He knew what that word meant and he was horrified that his father could consider doing that to Nathan's brother or sister._

_It was at this moment that Nathan's mind fully registered the magnitude of what was happening and the realization left him breathless. That wasn't just some kid. That was his brother._

_He brought his attention back to his parents in time to hear his father utter a low "Yes." There was the sound of quick footsteps followed by a sharp cracking sound, which turned out to be Angela slapping her husband across the face._

"_I hate you for that, Arthur," she said calmly. "I really do."_

He had no idea that his father still carried that desire, that he could lament the life of his precious little brother. "He didn't mean it, Pete," he whispered, trying to convince himself as well as his brother. "Weird stuff goes through people's minds without them really considering it. Parkman told me that's the biggest problem with his ability. People think things without really believing it themselves."

Peter reluctantly pulled away from his brother, gazing out across the river to slide his eyes across the well known skyline. "Dad knew what he was say, Nate, I know he did." He sighed, the time for tears and tantrums passed; his wounded heart sank into unenthusiastic acceptance. "I'm not moving with them. I don't care what he says," he laid a determined gaze on his silent brother. "I don't want to be anywhere near him, not now."

"Okay, okay, let's not worry about that right now."

The two sat in companionable silence for several moments; the younger brother leaning heavily upon the older. Peter was uncharacteristically quiet for so long that Nathan began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. He was taken aback to hear the maturing voice speak up once more.

"Ya know, it's almost a relief."

Nathan cocked a brow. "Yeah, how so?"

"I always worried that dad didn't like me for something that I had done, or something that I hadn't done, I dunno, but now I know that it isn't me. It's him."

Nathan blinked in quick succession, a movement that would have been described as fighting back tears if seen on a lesser man. "When did you get so old and wise, huh?" Peter grinned and shrugged. "Listen, I've been thinking. Dad has his mind set on this move," Peter scowled in response, "_but_ maybe…_maybe_ I can convince them to let you stay with me and Heidi for a while. At least until you acclimate to the idea."

Peter leapt at his brother, tackling him off of the lofty landmark as he had come close to doing early. The two fell into the air in a squirming tangle of arms and legs. They plummeted towards the murky water below, pulling up just before denting the crashing waves. Laughing, the two hung in unaided suspension; human marionettes escaping from gravity's crushing leash. Nathan drew his brother into a playful headlock. "Crazy kid, you coulda killed us."

"Good thing we can fly then, huh Nate," Peter grinned. "You really mean what you said?"

"Yeah, I meant it," he said, releasing his brother. "But we still have to convince mom and dad."

"Somehow I don't think he's gonna mind too much," Peter remarked, attempting to make light of the situation but finding that such frivolity was far too soon. He continued when he saw his brother grimace in commiseration, "But, its ok that dad doesn't want me so much…'cause I know you do."

Nathan laughed and cuffed the side of his brother's head. "Yeah I do…but don't go getting all weepy on me again."

"I was not weepy."

"Yeah, you were crying like an itty bitty baby…"

Peter growled, "I'm gonna get you for that!"

Nathan glided away, his howling laughter trailing behind him. "You're gonna have to catch me first, small fry."

The amazing flying Petrelli's jetted off into the artificially bright night sky. They stopped using Lady Liberty as a meeting place, partly because Peter felt as if he had left the heavy burden of his father's thoughts a top her soaring torch, but chiefly because Peter found that he and Nathan saw more than enough of each other once Peter moved in with his brother's family. And as all siblings will agree, it certainly is possible to have too much of a good thing.

* * *

Yay! I've been wanting to write this for so long. I'm glad I finally got it out of me. Please review, your thoughts are very important to me.

Oh, and for those readers who have never read 8th Grade History, Nathan's memory comes from that story ;)

by the way, can anyone tell me who the character Penny L is? She's right before Peter in the character list and I can't remember anyone with this name...


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